


Crocus

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Flower Crowns, Gen, M/M, Silly premise taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:53:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody wants to tell Thranduil, and so nobody does, and so when Legolas stands before him with a crown of flowers and newlyweds’ braids, it is a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crocus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



When Legolas returns home, he has a chain of crocuses woven through his hair.

They're wilted, very slightly, from the journey home, but the colors are still bright - vibrant sunshine yellow, deep purple, crisp white. Nine flowers, woven through the braids and knots that no longer mean  _ archer. _

Nobody wants to tell Thranduil, and so nobody does, and so when Legolas stands before him with a crown of flowers and newlyweds’ braids, this is a surprise.

  
  


“Legolas,” Thranduil asks, very carefully, when they’re alone in his study. “What have you  _ done?” _

Legolas ducks his head, deliberately avoiding Thranduil’s gaze. “I have saved Middle-Earth,” he says. “I have negotiated an alliance and multiple trade deals with the kingdoms of Gondor and Erebor, and I have helped remove the shadow from Mirkwood. Is there more that you would have me do?”

He’s avoiding the question and both of them know it. “What is -” and Thranduil gestures to the flower crown, “this?”

Legolas still doesn't meet his eyes - there are things one does not do, when facing Mirkwood's king - but even so, he’s smiling. “A gesture,” he says. “A proposal. Technically, a mistake.”

  
  


Pippin had decided, when Legolas visited the Shire, that his hair looked too monochrome, and had made him a flower crown.

It was only when he was done weaving it through Legolas’s hair that Legolas had told him, “Among the Elves, this is a proposal of marriage.” 

Pippin’s hands stopped, not because of the new information, but because he was finished. “I’m alright with that if you are,” he’d said, carefree as always.

Legolas had smiled, just a little. Smiles were subtle things on him. “I am.”

And that had been that.

  
  


“A mistake.” Thranduil doesn’t sound like he really believes it. “She is not Elven, then.”

Legolas nods. “He is mortal,” he confirms, and doesn’t bother to put emphasis on the  _ he. _ Thranduil will notice. He always does. 

Just for a moment, Thranduil looks overwhelmingly tired. Legolas doesn’t comment. He knows how rare it is, that he can see this side to his father at all. “And you promised you would die for him,” Thranduil says, like it’s inevitable. Like it has already happened, and Legolas is already gone. 

“No.” Even Legolas is surprised by how firm he sounds. “I did not. I will not.” He lifts his chin to finally meet his father’s gaze. 

“I promised I would  _ live _ for him.”


End file.
